


Picture Perfect - Slick's Squad - Sketch's Story

by Reulte



Series: Slick's Squad [4]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-02-24 14:20:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2584448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reulte/pseuds/Reulte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sketch's story after Sergeant Slick's treason at Christophsis.</p><p>Brothers Sketch and Punch have been separated; Punch to the 224th and Mimban while Sketch has been sent to the Coruscant Guards under Commander Fox.  </p><p>Neither trooper told the review board they'd been brothers-by-choice and wished to be together after Slick's treasons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Inducted into the Coruscant Guards

The mess of the Coruscant Guards was a bubble of tranquility and familiarity against the cacophony of the city-planet.  Sketch had only been here for one day and already he missed Christophsis - even with the droids sniping away as the squads patrolled around the main city and refugee camp.  Mostly, he missed Punch.

He'd been shunted through the brand-new Kaliida Medical Station for his transfer physical.  The station was still being retro-fitted from what it had been before and there'd been workers all over, you could hear the pounding, scraping, grinding, and high-pitched whine of drills.  The medics carried their packs and went into some half-finished room where a clone waited.  The medical he had received had been quick.  The other clone had taken his file chip, quickly glanced through Ferritin's notes then up into Sketch's face.  'Come here, sit down, you're clear'.  Sketch could only figure out that he passed because he could hear the medic, see the chair, and follow the order. 

He had stared out the clear panels of the crowded LAAT as they landed on Coruscant.  Sketch had a moment of agoraphobia as he stared at the city.  Three was no planet to see, it was covered with buildings both high and wide.  There were some green areas, parks in regiment regularity, but the LAAT moved into the innermost city.  There was still green; most around some of the larger buildings and quite a few rooftop and sidewall gardens.  Sketch glanced upward, knowing he'd never see a star on this light-saturated planet.  He'd never see the meteor showers and the bright asteroids that inhabited the skies of Christophsis.

Everyone on the LAAT had been shunted to an orientation of the Coruscant Guards.  Everyone else was direct from Kamino; a shiny, a rookie, and so excited to finally get to their assignments.  Had Punch and he been so excited when they'd been assigned to Sergeant Slick?  Sketch felt old as they looked at the history of his armor.  A clone lieutenant gave them a quick welcome briefing and passed out flimsi booklets provided by the Coruscant Tourist Board.  Jester gave a mirthless chuckle at noting that.  The booklet would be useless for a clonetrooper.  His fingers softly rubbed the flimsi; it was high-grade and would take nicely to colors or even a regular stylus like the one he'd been given to take notes.  Flipping through it, Sketch noted a lot of blank, virgin space for drawings.

Only once did the briefing lieutenant pause as he divided the shinies into squads and tell them where to report.

"You're the transfer from the 212th?" His voice was merely curious, not accusing Sketch of anything, and merely confirming what the armor told him.

"Yes sir."

"You'll wait in the mess for Commander Fox.  He'll be a while; finishing up with Senate meetings.  I don't expect him until 1730 but he wants to talk personally to all transfers.

"Yes sir," Sketch nodded as he grabbed his gear bag with one hand and the stylus and booklet in the other then made his way to the mess.

\------------------------------

Sketch froze as Commander Fox strode into the mess.  His meeting must have been canceled, he was early.  Sketch glanced down at the flimsi document, the words of the orientation booklet wreathed with tiny drawings, and the stylus in his hand.

Slick hadn’t liked him wasting time with drawing except when Slick wanted something drawn.  ‘For the morale of the squad, Sketch,’ he’d say, providing supplies, and Sketch would draw what Slick demanded.  It had started reasonable – like so much in that squad – so reasonable.  A few drawings of the refugee camp to illustrate some point or another for the command group, a pretty girl for the barracks.  Then forbidding Sketch to draw, taking the drawings and...

Sketch relaxed his breathing from his chest tight in fear as he twisted the stylus in his hand and tucked it into his gauntlet, hopefully unseen.

What would Commander Fox say?

Carefully casual, Sketch slid the greater part of the flimsi manual under the helmet he’d set on the table as Commander Fox strode to his table.

Maybe Commander Fox wouldn’t notice.

“Hello, Two eighty-seven,” began the commander and Sketch stood to attention waiting until the commander gave a salute back. 

Commander Fox looked at him quizzically at that.  “Welcome to the Coruscant Guards.”  Commander Fox set his own, crimson-trimmed helmet on the table.  “You can call me Commander Fox.  If you’re comfortable doing your in-brief here in the mess, I have no objections.  Your squad leader will give you a more in-depth briefing as well as keeping a close track of your training so this will mostly be an introduction and overview of the Guards.” 

It was a genuine question from the commander disguised as a statement, not a command phrased as a request.  Sketch had learned to tell the difference.  For a moment, he was worried he’d need to explain why he’d been transferred, need to explain what had happened on Christophsis without actually telling the commander anything that had happened then he nodded.  “Certainly, sir.  Shall I get us some caf?”  He was already turning even as Fox stood.

“Thanks for the offer, but I can manage,” Fox chuckled.  “After being in that Senate briefing all morning and a good part of this afternoon, I’m grateful for the chance to actually move around.”  He smiled slightly.  "First thing I'll tell you is we're usually not so formal.  There's no need to salute unless there are civilians nearby or it's official communications in my or an officer's office."

They got their caf, Sketch taking careful note of how the commander preferred his, just in case.  As they walked back to the table, Sketch was quiet, waiting for a comment or a question; waiting for something to tell him what Commander Fox wanted from him.  They sat across from each other at the table, Sketch leaning forward a bit to hide the drawings with the side of his arm.

Commander Fox took a good drink of the caf and held it in his mouth before swallowing.  “As I said, welcome to the Coruscant Guards.  We augment the Corsucant Security Force and the Senate Guard in their policing and protection duties of government personnel, buildings and information systems as well as assisting law enforcement in Coruscant among civilians.  Our duties are various and can include anything on any given day;  from regular city patrols to criminal investigations, counter-terrorism and counter-intelligence operations to crowd control and evidence custody.  We maintain the skyways and, of course, the military defense of Coruscant.  We’re a secondary police force for Coruscant, as it were.”

He paused a moment and Sketch nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

“Our Diplomatic Escort Group also supplements the Senate Guard by providing personal protection and escort for senators, the Supreme Chancellor, and other ranking members of the Galactic Republic government. The DEG is an adjunct force of the Guards, run by CC- 5869 and his second, CC-4477; Stone and Thire.  With all the treaty making and breaking going on, Stone usually dips into the us rather than the Guards for more manpower.”

That made sense; the Senate Guards were born-men rather than clones.  Clone commanders preferred clones; they were familiar as was their training.

Fox took another sip of his caf.  “You’ll be spending your first few weeks taking courses; from flyer training to diplomatic protocol.  We spar with both the Security Force and the Senate Guards, as well as any regional policing forces visiting here in Coruscant.  We train you in riot control and non-lethal weapons.  You will receive a stipend as part of the Coruscant Guards.”  He gave a slight grin, “but don’t let that go to your head; you’ll also receive a class on budgeting and filing vouchers as well as a list of what you are and are not permitted to purchase.”

"Credit?" Sketch was incredulous.  He'd be receiving money?  The commander saw the shock in his face and shrugged. 

"It's the way Coruscant operates.  As a mentioned, you'll receive a thorough grounding in it."

For a moment Fox was still, his fingers beating a tattoo on the table and his face sternly inspecting Sketch.  Then he spoke, his voice not as friendly as it had been, harder with warning.  “Sometimes troopers get sent to me because they’re trouble but not enough trouble to go back to Kamino.”  Fox stared into his eyes.  “I straighten them out.  Are you one of those kinds of troopers, Sketch?”

“No, sir,” replied Sketch quickly.

The commander gave Sketch a long, measuring look then relaxed and gestured with a finger at the drawings peeping out from under Sketch’s bucket.  “You’ve got talent, trooper.  Why haven’t you painted your armor?”  The commander pulled on his bucket as Sketch’s mouth dropped open, even as he realized that his answer would give away too much.

“You’d have every trooper and his brother here asking for help.”  Then the commander turned and moved quickly from the mess.

Sketch’s words were a whisper to the back of Commander Fox.  “I wasn’t allowed, sir.”


	2. Chapter 2

Sketch was incorporated into Sergeant Davr's squad though the sergeant wasn't available for briefing since he was on assignment with the DEG. Two of the squad troopers, Rys and Jek, gave him a quick tour around the compound.

It was a squat, low building of only two hundred and three floors arched over a training field.

"Can you believe it? Cloned grass," Jek's arm swept over the field while Rys had pointed out the equipment and entry to the showers.

"There's a pool in below," he mentioned. "It's not very popular with us guys from Kamino."

Sketch shook his head. "No, wouldn't be popular at all." They all knew how to swim; it was required, but Kamino's turbulent waters had never been inviting. None of them really swam for pleasure.

The ground level floor was a common gathering area with a large vid screen as well as several briefing auditoriums and smaller conference rooms. Commander Fox's office was here as well as Commander Stone's and Lieutenant Thire's.

Two of the lower floors were devoted to Medical and a third floor for bacta tanks and recovery. Sketch was curious to see so much recovery room on a planet uninvolved in battle until Rys told him it was a backup for when battleships came to Coruscant space after battle.

"It gets used more than you'd think," Jek had offered.

Rys nodded. "Not too long ago we had Yularen's _Resolute_ bring in a lot of damaged supply ships and crew from the CIS blockade around Christophsis." He shook his head. "I heard every tank was in use for a while."

"There were a lot of wounded," nodded Sketch. "A lot of fatalities as well. I was on Christophsis during the blockade. Supplies were getting non-existent. Senator Organa did what he could, requesting occasional trooper assistance to harvest some edible moss that grows between the crystal structures. It was about the only thing left on the planet to eat."

Jek tilted his head. "Was it good?"

Sketch gave a breathy laugh. "Not really. We tossed it into soup made from water and our ration bars."

"Sounds terrible," added Rys.

"It _was_ terrible, edible only because we were starving.  Senator Organa donated all of his foodstuffs to the kitchen. There was some sort of spice that was so hot you couldn't taste the rations or the plants and that made the soup tolerable." He grinned, remembering Punch's reaction on that first spoon of soup. "There were some really great expressions that I…." His face sobered as he remembered what Sergeant Slick had done to those drawings. His fingers twitched. "Anyway, our medic, Ferritin, used up everything in medical then requisitioned all trooper med packs for the common good. Things got pretty tight, I can tell you."

"You're not short any supplies now, are you? Because you can re-supply. We have supply rooms, two to a floor and a medic on every floor as well." offered Jek quietly.

They hadn't missed his change of subject and were trying to be kind, thinking he'd lost his squad on Christophsis. In a way he had, but the only one he missed was Punch.

"No, we got resupplied when the blockade was broken." Sketch's voice was quieter. The droids had attacked as the first supply ship had landed; taking out waiting refugees as well as troopers. Punch and Sergeant Slick had gotten between a group of panicked younglings and the droids, Punch taking a blaster wound high on his back, incapacitating his shoulder while Slick had ordered Gus and him to get the kids to safety.

"Mess here is on the blue line and covers two floors." Rys smiled at Sketch, trying to draw him out of his somber mood. "Unlike Kamino and a lot of trooper kitchens, we usually get two or three choices. The down side is it's stairs only unless you're on certain shifts or details like medical or evidence-shift."

"Evidence-shift?" Sketch had never heard of Evidence-shift.

"That's criminal response," answered Jek. "Usually pretty boring, just taking notes and maintaining a presence until an investigator arrives. But the civilians, particularly the Senators, like to see immediate response." He shrugged. "I guess it makes them feel safer."

"Commander Fox mentioned something of that nature." Sketch nodded in understanding then raised an eyebrow in curiosity looking up the circular stairwell.  Somewhere up there was a ceiling, but he couldn't see it. "So, which floor are we on?"

"Double-digits, vod," grinned Jek in triumph over his brothers on higher floors. "Floor sixty-three."

They met other troopers as they moved along the hallway and stairwells. Rys and Jek introduced him and Sketch acknowledged each trooper with a nod and his own designation and name.

"Sketch," called a voice and Sketch jerked around to see a trooper he'd known on Kamino.

"Tuftu," he nodded at the other clone. Tuftu had been in the same barracks corridor for the first years of training and there'd been friendly competition between their squads.

"Is Punch around? I've got a really…" Tuftu's voice paused as he took in Sketch's silence. "…good story." Tuftu's voice faded and he was silent, coming to a respectful parade rest. "I'm sorry, Sketch." His silence and demeanor had made Rys and Jek realize something was wrong and they, too, were respectfully quiet.

Sketch shook his head. "He's in a different company now, as are Gus and Jester. Zev didn't make it."

"But you're brothers, Sketch. They wouldn't do something like that to brothers." Tuftu's eyes went wide. "Would they?"

Sketch shrugged and started up the stairs again. "No one told them we were brothers. Not even me."

Unlike Kamino and the pre-fabricated camp buildings of Christophsis, the building hadn't always been a barracks. There were odd, decorative touches everywhere; carvings on the wall near the ceiling, intricate fretwork on the banister of the stairs and windows too large and vulnerable to belong to anything military. Some of them were stained with various patterns of color. Sketch wanted to stop and look at them, to observe the swirls of the carvings and see the patterns of the makers had put on the stairs and in the patterns of glass. He wanted to inspect the work of true artists.  He wanted to discuss it with Punch. He said nothing and kept step with the other two clones.

When they reached their level, Jek and Rys showed him where the supply rooms were located and how to sign out the requisition for anything not available in the room.

"You can requisition almost anything available in GAR supply." Jek grinned then chuckled gleefully.

"Pretty much anything," Rys shook his head then nodded toward Jek. "He takes up most of the barrack space with his gear. He's requisitioned not only a set of deece models 15, 17, and 17A but a Z-6 rotary cannon and an RPS-6 rocket launcher."

"Hey," Jek smacked Rys lightly in the arm. "One day you'll be glad I have those."

Sketch smiled wistfully, remember mock arguments with Punch. Rys and Jek may not have been brothers but they were good friends. They were trying to be friends with him as well, welcoming him to the squad.

"Maybe one day I try to requisition a LAAT," he joked softly and both Rys and Jek stared then slapped him on the shoulders with laughter.

"Where would you go?" Rys asked.

Sketch shrugged. He didn't know where Punch was. He couldn't go searching blindly. "Don't know yet." Sketch laughed to keep too much emotion from his voice. "But I'll keep it in the barracks next to Jek's gear until I figure out where I want to go."

He knew where he wanted to go - where ever Punch was.


	3. Breakfast with the Squad

 

Echoing the building’s non-military origin was the barracks room.  It wasn’t rectangular with rows of bunks; it was oblong with several alcoves that were too narrow for the rack to be slide in sideways. yet wider than the trooper bunks.  Most of the beds were slid into the notches at an angle with the troopers gear boxes stowed in the corner of the alcove.  Unlike in the Kamino barracks, most of the  gearboxes were open.  Otherwise, the trooper would need to move his rack to open it every time he needed something.

Still, the room itself was beautifully proportioned and Sketch marveled at the perfection of the stone wall’s curve.  The stone was a shade of deep cream with veins of pink and red shot throughout.  There were eight carved stone pillars of a coppery-gold hue: two at each end and four in the middle of the room.  The armor case, between two pillars near the middle of the room on one wall, held several helmets and armor pieces touched with the Coruscant Guards red and even that seemed like planned artwork.

There was a wide window at one end of the oblong  room opposite the door.  The bunk next to the window was the only empty and Sketch took that, awed by the view.  The sun was setting, sending spears of orange and yellow rays through the sky while evening was creeping in on purple indigos.  Buildings were shadowed and night on Coruscant was evolving into a sparkle of light and movement.

As he lay in the unfamiliar bunk, his comm unit blinked and a message downloaded.  In curiosity, Sketch reached for it; perhaps it was his orders for the next day though it turned out to be a message from Tuftu.

“If you ever want to talk about what happened or simply talk, I’ll listen.  I told the squad you were assigned to Coruscant Guards but Punch wasn’t.  I told them it’s a story, but you never told stories.  They won’t ask.”

That was kind of Tuftu, both the offer of listening and keeping his brothers off of Sketch’s back.  Sketch would like to talk but first he had to think through about everything that had happened; about Sergeant Slick and treason and how he’d been frozen simply gaping at Punch as the traitor had escaped a room full of troopers.  They’d all been shocked; even Commander Cody, and Sketch realized the commander had counted Slick’s treason as his own mistake.  Still, it was a lot to think about and he’d need time before he spoke to anyone about Punch and the rest of the squad.  Per orders, he’d never be able to speak about Slick’s treason and Sketch wondered why he wanted to speak about the sergeant.

He dream that night of the sergeant.  In his dream he understood everything and it made a twisted kind of sense.

The next morning Sketch realized that the others in the squad didn’t like the window.  It was unusual; nothing like Kamino or GAR prefab barracks, and they were uneasy with the visibility.  Abashed, Rys had even gone to supply and returned to offered him some glass-black even before showering.  

“I didn’t think  of how it would be, waking up in the window, Sketch.  I am sorry.”

Sketch had breathed out with a smile.  It had been glorious and as the light of false dawn had touched his face, Sketch had woken from Sergeant Slick’s dream-words of ‘I did it for the squad, Sketch’.   There’d been no movement, no other trooper awake and Sketch merely lay in the rack watching the sun slowly rise; gold over-washing the darkness.  He wished he had colors and skill to capture the picture.  He wished he could give sunrise to Punch.   Sketch smiled; Punch would have pulled the blanket over his head and rolled over with a groan at the interruption of his sleep.

“I’ll be fine without the glass-black, Rys.”  Sketch ran his fingers through his hair and glanced down where he’d set the flimsi pages of the tourist brochure. observing all that whiteness on the pages for civilian notes or memories.  He softly sucked in his lower lip.   He could make an ink out of the glass-black.  “Well, maybe a little,” he said as he took one small bottle from Rys and set it next to the brochure.   “I’ll think about it first though.”

Rys nodded.  “Let’s shower up.  The sergeant came in last night from duty and will breakfast with us before he reports to Commander Fox and drops for his eight.”

Jek and another trooper were already in the shower, both loudly singing Vode An.  Rys joined in and Sketch smiled before adding his own voice.

Sketch didn’t have to meet their sergeant; this was a good squad of brothers - so different than Slick’s squad.  

It was a squad like he and Punch had always envisioned around themselves.  Sketch’s voice faltered as he missed his brother so ferociously it tore at his heart.

Rys patted him on the shoulder then raised his own voice louder; as if to cover for Sketch’s silence. **  
**

\------------------------------

In the mess, Rys introduced him to Sergeant Davr, just returned from his escort assignment with the two troopers he'd taken with him; Air, a solid clone with scars on his face, and Two-six, fresh from his first assignment after Kamino.  Davr was yawning heavily through his grin.  He turned towards Sketch.  “Escort duty for some senators make me want to volunteer to arm-wrestle a wookie, but this new senator from Taris does not appear to be one of those.”  He glanced around at the men of his squad - Sketch, Rys, Jek, Gul as Air and Two-six went to the mess line for food.  “She acknowledged the escort, smiled, spoke cordially with Stone about the weather.”  Again he turned to Sketch.  “You’ll find out that civilians find it difficult to keep quiet.  They need conversation, it’s almost pathological.  Thank you, Air."  That last was to the trooper who set a tray of food in front of the Sergeant.

“And, it’s always about weather.  Why the weather?” asked Gul, another member of the squad who Jester had met in the shower.  “Although, if she’s interested, I’ll tell her everything I know about weather.”  Gul grinned at Sketch, leaned in and whispered loudly.  "I did the prep work for the DEG escort and the Senator is very pretty."

Davr shook his head with a chuckle at Gul's words.  “I have no idea.  There are a million other, more interesting things to talk about but…” he shrugged.  “It’s always the weather.”

“It’s not personal,” said Jester quietly and the entire squad looked at him in curiosity and surprise.  “And, if they don’t talk perhaps they get lonely.”  

“That’s an interesting idea, Jester.”  Davr gave a thoughtful nod.   “Might be.  It’s a big disruption for many of the diplomats to move to Coruscant.  I see them looking through the flimsis most intently about Coruscant and what it’s like rather than Senate information.”

Rys nodded.  “Maybe like a trooper on a new assignment; trying to find the way of the land rather than who is in the command structure because that’s core knowledge.”

Gul tilted his head in thought.  “I guess so.  Maybe the next time they ask about the weather, we can also mention the big park next to the Senate Apartments and how it’s protected against precipitation.”

"That would be a good transition from the weather to something else," added Air as he bent to his breakfast.

“Do so,” added Davr as he shoveled his fork through the scrambled eggs.

Sketch thought he understood it wasn’t a real command, simply something Davr thought was a good idea.  But then - he'd thought a lot of things about Sergeant Slick and about the others in the squad that hadn't been right.  "Was that a command, Sergeant Davr?"  Sketch asked cautiously.

The entire table went quiet as the squad looked at him with amazement in their faces.  Sketch bowed his head to the food.  "I need to ask because sometimes it wasn't always clear in my previous command what were orders and what wasn't."

"Even I know it's just a suggestion," piped up Two-six after the silence had gone on too long.  Sketch bit his lower lip in consternation.

"But we should take it as an order," Rys turned to Two-six, "because it's a good idea from the sergeant."

"But that doesn't make it an order," countered Two-six stubbornly.  Sketch smiled slightly to know that the newest recruit felt comfortable enough in the squad to disagree with a more experienced trooper.

"May not always be a good idea," added Air as he sipped at some tea, the plate in front of him now empty.

The sergeant shook his head.  "It's not an order and, as for it being a good idea... As Air says, I think that would depend on the circumstances.  You'll need to use your judgment."  He looked at Sketch, waiting until Sketch looked him back.  "We use our judgment quite often, Sketch.  Here in the Coruscant Guards, we have to think; not simply obey orders."

Sketch nodded. 

“How can someone get lonely,” Jek asked then took a bite of the crisp-fried topatoes and swallowed with only a minimum of chewing.  “If nothing else, they can always talk to themselves.”

“Maybe their own voice is the most accusing one.”  Jester stared at his food, suddenly not the least bit hungry.  “Maybe that’s why they need someone to talk to; because they want to drowned out what their own voice is saying.  Maybe they feel guilty about something.”

_Like drawing that picture of Punch._

_Like letting yourself be used by Sergeant Slick._

_Like not protecting the squad like a brother should. **  
**_

 


	4. Budgeting Class

 

Again, Sketch woke early to the dimming lights of Coruscant night and the false dawn turning to golden morning.  He was comforted by the noise of the others in the barracks. 

Sketch leaned back against his arm behind his head.  The morning before, he’d been mesmerized by the light outside the window.  This morning, it was the clones in his squad which held his attention. 

In the nearest bunk, Air slept on his stomach, one arm hanging over the edge of the bunk with one knuckle twitching against the floor.  He seemed to snore a bit, something the Kaminoans had bred out of them but perhaps whatever had caused the scarring on his face had damaged internal sinus passages.  It wasn’t loud or very noticeable, merely present and oddly pleasant. 

In the next bunk over, Two-six slept curled around his bucket, a small blue light reflecting on his face and Sketch wondered what memory hologram Two-six stared at each night as he fell asleep.  He wished he had a holo of Punch but they’d reset the helmets’ memory cache after… after…..  simply afterwards and all he retained was a long vid of Christophsis falling as the LAAT took him away.

On his other side, Rys, Gul, and Jek had shoved their bunks together in the alcove between the two middle pillars of the room.  Sketch had heard their murmurs of conversation and quiet laughter until late turned into early.  They were now a mound of pillows, blankets, and body parts.  Sketch saw dark hair but couldn’t tell if it was Rys or Gul.  He saw a leg sticking out from the mound and could only tell it didn’t belong to the head with the dark hair.  As he watched, the head turned revealing Rys’ tattoo on his jaw while the leg withdrew under the covers but an arm pushed its way free.

So much like when and Punch had been cadets and often woke tangled in blankets and each other.

\----------

“Hey Sketch, you’ve got orders from the Commander,” yelled Gul. “Budgeting class for the day.” 

Jek slapped him on the shoulder.  “It’s an easy course, Sketch.  Just numbers and memorization.  You’ll have no problems with it.  In the afternoon, you’ll get a little taste of Coruscant.”  He leaned in closer to Sketch.  “Go for the kor vella twist with everything.”

Before Sketch could reply or even request an explanation for better comprehension, Rys yelled over the general noise of clones armoring up and preparing for breakfast and duty. 

“Jek, you’ve got early escort duty.  You’ll need to grab a meal on the go.  Senate Apartments; get your shebs in gear.  Sketch, if you get anything but a mokchok nut crunch, I may have to short-sheet your bunk.”

“Very berry crescent crisp and I’ll help you short-sheet Rys,” added Air with a grin at Sketch who noted he looked nothing like dour Chopper in spite of their scarred similarity. 

Gul added his choice with a nod.  “Mokchok caramel chew.”

Even Two-six added, “Cinnful pickled pepper poppers.”  The others groaned.

Sketch was still confused, but the enthusiasm in the barracks was contagious and he was laughing  in good humor with the others.

\----------

Budgeting; as Jek had said, wasn’t a difficult course merely unsettling in its implications.  At first he was worried because he was the only one in the room, but when the instructor, a plump Twi’lek woman with very little of the elegant grace granted to most Twi’leks, arrived she explained there had been a class only three days previous and, due to staffing, she wouldn’t be available for another two weeks.

“Yes, ma’am,” Sketch said as he stood in parade rest.  She gestured her teal-green fingers towards a table surrounded by chairs.

“Shall we sit together? It will be interesting teaching a single student.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sketch recited again but he remembered seeing Senator Organa on Christophsis at some meeting with refugees and pulled her chair out for her.  She smiled and thanked him as she pulled flimsis from her case.  “I am Lavaren’sauyl.”

“Sketch,” he nodded as he took the chair next to hers to see the flimsis.

“Do you?  I’ve noticed that clone names are often indicative of skills.”  She looked at him with interest in her eyes; not a citizen looking at a clone but a person looking at another person.  Sketch knew the difference.

For a moment, Sketch was silent.  “I can,” he admitted, “but I usually don’t.”

“Ability versus inhibitions,” she murmured with a sympathetic gaze.  “I can dance the Parduso but,” she gestured at her bulk.  “I usually don’t.”  She passed some flimsis to him and the lesson began.

“You don’t get paid for duty,” she explained.  “You receive a stipend for dealing with Coruscant.  You will have dealings with citizens.  You may need information or to continue conversing and many citizens prefer to converse over a small meal or drinks.  Much of the antipathy towards clonetroopers on Coruscant is because, in the past when a citizen offered to continue speaking over caf or midday meal they were refused and considered this an insult.  Without some form of money, you cannot interact with many citizens except in limited capacity.  You need a more nuanced means of interacting with the people of Coruscant.”

Sketch nodded.

“You cannot buy death sticks nor alcohol in any form.  Bar entry is circumstantial.  Every mini-credit must be accounted for in your voucher.”

“Is there a limit?” he asked.

“I’m sure there is, but I don’t know it.  I believe it’s set at various levels depending upon your current duties, rank, and level of expertise.”

“And how well I’ve handled it in the past,” Sketch smiled.

“I’m sure that’s part of it,” she nodded then continued the lecture.  “You will need to voucher every credit.  If your vouchers exceed a certain amount, either individual vouchers or all vouchers within a time frame such as a week or month, your sergeant will audit and request an explanation.  If you continue going over limits without valid reasons, Commander Fox will have a talk with you, your stipend will probably be cut and your assignments will change to areas where there is no possibility of civilian interaction.”

“All of those are terrible punishments in themselves,” grinned Sketch then he gestured toward her training flimsi.  “This seems a lot of indeterminate information,” Sketch said slowly.  “Things that we will need to make a decision on, a lot of grey area and contextual circumstances.  A lot of clonetroopers are not good at decisions.”

“Then learn.”  She had smiled, faintly. “ I understand you’re adaptable and that requires change and that requires learning.  We will go on a field trip  to a small cafe this afternoon for practice.”  She glanced at the timepiece she had set next to the flimsis.  “Actually, we’re quite advanced for the day.  We could go now and finish the class there.  The remainder is mostly questions and answers.”

Sketch looked at her thoughtfully.  “What do you suggest I get?  I’ve been told to get a twist, a crunch, a crisp, a chew, and a popper by various members of my squad.”

She tilted her head and the tips of her lek curled in pleasure.  “You are the first clone who has ever asked my opinion.”

Sketch raised an eyebrow in curiosity.  “And…?”

She smiled and leaned forward.  “One of everything,” she whispered lightly in his ear.

**********

A/N Kor vella twist courtesy of Queen’s (and laloga’s and Longlivetheclones) story ‘Captain Rex and the Last Cheese Pretzel’ in FanFiction net.


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